Simply Voracious (38 page)

He didn’t bother to call for a carriage or his horse, he just hailed a hackney cab and placed a reluctant Gregor inside it with him. The servant insisted he could walk. Paul thought it more likely that he didn’t want Con to know he’d been interfering in his affairs. He did agree to wait until Gregor slipped back inside Con’s apartment before he announced his arrival at the door.

Paul waited for a few minutes in the freezing cold, and then banged on the door. Gregor opened it, and Paul played his part, pretending that he’d just called on the off chance of seeing Con.

Gregor ushered Paul into the living room and immediately disappeared again. The fire was blessedly warm. Con sat in front of it in his shirt and breeches, one hand gripping a bottle of what Paul guessed was vodka.

“Are you all right, Con?” Paul asked quietly.

“What do you want, Lieutenant?”

Con slowly turned toward him, and Paul went still. He’d never seen Con drunk before. He now understood why Gregor was worried. There was no trace of Con’s usual good humor and calm nature in his eyes. Just a terrible cold rage as deep as the worst excesses of a Russian winter.

Paul took the seat opposite Con and continued to study his friend. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t a man enjoy a drink without everyone worrying about him?”

“Some men, yes, but you’re not known as a drinker, Con.”

Con took another long swallow from the nearly empty bottle. “There’s a reason for that. I don’t like the man I’ve become.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

Con shrugged. “Because I don’t particularly like myself anyway at the moment.”

“What happened?”

“I found my wife.”

“And . . .”

“She is happily married to another man, the Frenchman who
saved
her in Moscow.”

“I can understand why that might have upset you.”

“It didn’t. I have no feeling for her at all. I thought she was dead.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Paul opened his hands wide. “Did you harm her in any way?”

“Of course I didn’t.” Con fixed him with a deathly glare. “Mind you, if I’d managed to get a hold of her the second time, I’m not sure what I would’ve done to shake the truth out of her.”

“Does she not wish to acknowledge you?”

“Damnation, Paul, I don’t want her to! I want to forget she ever existed. I want to be free of her selfish, inconsiderate lies, but how can I when I don’t know the truth?”

Paul crouched down in front of Con and took the bottle out of his hand. “Let me help you. Come home with me, and we’ll sort this out, I promise you.”

Con looked down at him. “Why would you help me? You have everything I’ve ever wanted, you
were
everything I ever wanted, and you threw me away.”

Paul swallowed hard. “I thought I could, but I can’t. I need you, Con. I need you and Lucky more than anything. Will you please come back with me?”

He went still as Con leaned down and locked one hand around the back of his neck, drawing him upward until his mouth ground against Con’s. He sighed and let Con inside, accepting both the strong bite of the vodka and the darker tones of Con’s anger. Paul moaned as Con fumbled with the placket of Paul’s breeches and wrapped one hand around his semi-erect cock. God, it felt good to be fondled so roughly, to want it but fear it at the same time.

Breathing hard, Paul wrenched away from Con and ripped open the other man’s breeches. Despite his drinking, Con was already hard, and Paul bent his head to take him between his lips, sucking and licking until Con started to fuck his mouth, shoving his thick length down Paul’s willing throat. Paul took all of him, letting Con have control, ignoring the ache in his own shaft in his eagerness to give Con exactly what he needed.

“Paul, oh, God, I want, I need . . .”

Con pulled away, and Paul found himself being half carried, half dragged toward Con’s bed. Con pushed him facedown on to the mattress and climbed on top of him, pulling down Paul’s breeches to the knees. A moment later Paul felt the welcome slickness of oil, and then Con was thrusting deep inside his arse in a steady driving rhythm that made him want to groan with every punishing stroke.

He set his teeth and endured each pounding thrust until his whole body awakened and the friction turned to pleasure and such exquisite need that he never wanted it to stop. He wanted Con there fucking him until he screamed. He reached around to touch his own dripping cock, but Con caught his wrists and drew them over his head, stretching him out farther, making him unable to avoid each deep, penetrating thrust.

“I want to come, Con, let me come.”

Paul sighed as Con wrapped one of his hands around the base of his straining shaft, but his relief was short-lived as Con’s grip tightened.

“Not yet,” Con growled as he continued to fuck Paul’s arse, their slick skin now sliding against each other, bodies straining, and heartbeats as loud as their breathing. His strokes shortened and became more shallow but no less intense. Paul closed his eyes and allowed the red-black tide of lust to consume him, and then felt Con freeze over him and the hot rush of his peak, both of their climaxes pouring out.

Paul stayed under Con until his breathing evened out and then waited for his friend to move. After a moment, he realized that Con’s face was buried against his shoulder and that he was weeping.

Lucky peered out of the window into the rainstorm, Paul’s note clutched in her hand. Should she go to Constantine’s lodgings or not? She had a horror of repeating the same mistake she had made with Jeremy. According to Parsons, Paul had left over an hour ago, and he had not returned.

A knock at the door had her turning to see Milly entering the room.

“There’s another note come for you from Lieutenant St. Clare, my lady.”

“Thank you.” Lucky read the terse sentences and looked up at Milly. “I have to go out. I’ll need my stout boots and warmest coat, and please call me a hackney cab.”

“Again, my lady? You have a perfectly fine coachman sitting there doing nothing. Why not use him?”

Lucky didn’t answer. Neither Milly nor the coachman needed to know that their mistress’s next destination was a notorious house of pleasure.

When she arrived at Madame Helene’s, she did as she had been instructed and went through the back of the house to the kitchens, where Ambrose awaited her.

He bowed. “My lady. Your husband and Lieutenant Colonel Delinsky are in one of the private bedchambers at the rear of the house. I’ll take you up there.”

“Thank you, Ambrose.” Lucky glanced up at him as he held open the door for her. “Is everything all right?”

“Your husband is fine, though the lieutenant colonel is a trifle foxed. But we have been endeavoring to restore him to his usual self.”

Lucky frowned at that and allowed herself to be guided up the back stairs and into a far quieter area of the house. Ambrose knocked on one of the doors and then opened it and ushered Lucky inside.

Paul stood and came across to her. His smile was so welcoming it made her feel warm. There was also a purpose to his voice that had been missing recently. “Lucky, I’m so glad you are here.” He led her across to where Con was sitting by the fire; his head back against the chair, his complexion even paler than usual. “Con’s in trouble, Lucky, and he needs us.”

Lucky sat on the footstool and put her hand on Con’s knee. “How can we help you?”

He looked down at her. “Neither of you need to do anything. I was just a little drunk, and Paul mistook—”

Lucky squeezed his knee hard. “Con, don’t be silly. It is obvious that something is wrong. We want to help you.” She glanced up at Paul, who nodded. “We love you.”

“Perhaps Con no longer thinks he needs us because his wife is alive,” Paul said.

“You found her?” Lucky asked.

“I did. She has remarried and is living mainly in France.” Con’s voice strengthened. “And she is
not
the reason why I do not wish to involve you in my dilemma.”

“Is it because you don’t wish to break your marriage vows?” Lucky said. “Paul and I seem quite capable of doing that with you, but only with you.”

“It’s not that either.” He sighed, and Lucky hated the sound of defeat in his voice. “I’m not sure if I am a good enough person to be involved in any kind of relationship anymore with anyone.”

“That is ridiculous,” Lucky said firmly. “Tell me exactly what happened with your wife.”

A small smile trembled on Con’s beautiful mouth, and he looked at Paul. “Your wife is very determined, isn’t she?”

Paul shrugged. “Indeed she is. It is one of her most admirable qualities. You should just tell her what she wants to know.”

“All right, then. Everything went surprisingly well when I met Natasha. She was just as keen as I am to avoid a scandal, and for us to settle the matter of our official divorce in private through the advocacy of the Russian ambassador.”

“Did you realize you wanted her back?” Lucky asked.

“Not at all. She was exactly the same, rather self-centered and concerned only for her social position.”

“Oh,” Lucky said. She couldn’t help but feel a measure of relief at his words.

“She cannot compare with you, my lady,” Con added, and Lucky fought a blush.

“Then what went wrong?” Paul asked as he took a seat on the arm of Con’s chair.

Con sat forward, and Lucky noticed the faint abrasions of another man’s stubble on his neck. She looked back at Paul and noticed his slightly swollen mouth. She didn’t begrudge them their bed sport. She only wished she had been able to join in and comfort Con herself.

“After we had concluded our business, I mentioned to Natasha that I’d caught her son delivering her notes to me. She denied it, saying that her son was too young. I knew she was lying, but I didn’t wish to destroy the accord we had built up, so I decided to leave.” He took in a deep breath. “While I was in the hall, her children descended with their governess, and I realized that she was correct. Her son
was
too young to have been out on the streets by himself.”

“Did she hire someone, then?”

“I’m not sure.” He swallowed hard. “The eldest of her children, a girl, stared at me very deliberately when she passed by. It took me far too long to realize that she had been the boy I’d caught. It took me even longer to realize she had my eyes. . . .”

“What do you mean?” Lucky whispered.

“What if she is
my
child? What if Natasha left with the Frenchman because she knew she was carrying my child and took the only way out she could think of?” Con covered his head with his hands. “And if that is true, what kind of a man, a
father,
does that make me?”

Lucky struggled to gather her thoughts. “What did Natasha say?”

He grimaced. “She refused to talk to me and threatened to have me thrown out on the street.”

“So you still do not know . . .” Lucky rose to her feet and Paul followed suit. “Do you have your wife’s address?”

Con looked startled. “Whatever for?”

“If she will not talk to you, perhaps she will agree to speak to me instead.”

“For what purpose?”

“To find out the truth,” Lucky said. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“And what if it is true?” Con whispered. “What should I do then? I doubt Natasha has mentioned anything about me to her children.” He rubbed his eyes. “What right do I have to walk into that child’s life and destroy everything she thought she knew of herself?”

“He has a point, Lucky,” Paul murmured.

Lucky wheeled around to face Paul. “But doesn’t Con also have a right to know the truth? Whether he chooses to act on the matter is a secondary issue. And surely the child has a right to know who her true parents are?”

“Lucky . . .” Paul held her gaze, the sympathy in his eyes almost oversetting her.

“You think I’m saying this because of what happened to me, don’t you? Well, you might be right.” She swallowed down a sob. “I wanted to be honest with all of you, that’s why I . . .” She stopped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Paul came over and wrapped her in his arms. “It’s all right, I understand now, I really do. You wanted to stop this kind of uncertainty in later life for any child of ours.”

She rested her forehead on his shoulder, glad that he finally seemed to accept what she had done and why. After she regained her composure she looked over at Constantine.

“I’m sorry, I should not have spoken so harshly to you. You must do what you please.”

He nodded and then fixed her with his calm silver gaze. “I trust you, my lady. I’d like you to go and see Natasha for me and find out whatever you can about the matter.”

She moved out of Paul’s embrace and went to Constantine, cupping his face in her hands. “Thank you, Constantine. Thank you for your trust.”

28

“
Y
our wife is rather self-centered, Constantine, and very reluctant to disclose anything about her past. She was, however, happy to receive me and then lecture me on the shortcomings of English society as compared with the French.” Lucinda took the seat Con offered her and sat down, her expression defeated.

Con had returned home early that morning, and the St. Clares had come to tell him about Lucinda’s afternoon meeting with Natasha.

“It’s all right, my lady,” Con answered her with a smile. “I didn’t expect her to tell you anything important at a first meeting.”

Lucinda sat forward and took off her gloves. “But I did get to meet the children before I was firmly but politely encouraged to leave.”

“You met them?”

Lucinda held his gaze. “The eldest girl looks very like you, Constantine, although her hair is slightly darker.”

Con swallowed and touched his head. “My hair turned this color when I was about twenty, as did my mother’s.”

“Natasha is also blond.”

“I know, but you thought the girl looked like me?”

“I did.” Lucinda glanced at Paul, who was also listening intently. “I managed to speak to her for a moment when her mother was ordering the tea. Her name is Anastasia. I asked her when she hoped to come out, and she said she was only just fourteen so it would be
years
.”